Katrina Furnace: Lockdown
by jumpingjaxx13
Summary: Having been raised in Furnace, Katrina sees the world in a completely different point of view, the monstrous beings that inhabit it like brothers to her. When a strange new prisoner shows up, her entire way of life is threatened. Torn between being a teen and being a commander, will she be able to protect her home from this new threat? Will contain slash. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Do I look like I own anything? Yeah, didn't think so.**

_A single cry for help_

_Feet dragging on the floor_

_Boos and jeers from the sidelines_

_Never feeling so helpless_

_Knots being ties, cells being locked, prisoner being bound_

_Vicious beasts being released_

_A final cry for help ignored_

_The sickening sound of tearing flesh_

_The last time you would ever love again_

_You step into the arena_

_Raise your hand_

_They run away_

_You lift his chin and look him in his bloodshot eyes_

_His gorgeous, pleading eyes_

_Mixtures of blood and tears fall down his face_

_You will help him, you say_

_You will fix him and make him more powerful_

_Stronger than he ever could have imagined_

_So you never __**have**__ to love again_

"Yikes!" A young girl, about 16, shot straight up in bed. She was breathing hard, heart pounding, and blinking her eyes rapidly to help them adjust to the dim light. The bed creaked as a musculed (seriously, that is all that was on it) dog jumped up and put its paws on the bed, whimpering and nudging her leg. The girl took a deep breath and looked at the dog's silver eyes, immediately feeling her pulse slow down. "Oh, hey Maxie. C'mere, boy." They dog's tail wagged and he jumped up on the bed, licking the young girl's face.

"Ka… ahem, Miss Furnace. Is everything okay?" In the doorway of her room stood a tall, muscular (with skin this time) boy. He looked about her age with military cut brown hair, silver eyes that were similar to the dog's, and pulsing silver veins that stuck out of his enormous, scarred biceps. His name was Scott White, the First Lieutenant of the Blacksuit Hurricanes; Katrina Furnace's personal troop of mutated soldiers.

Katrina beamed when her pale blue eyes met his and she beckoned him over. He complied and, still scratching the dog's head, she planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. "I'm alright, Captain White. Just some more nightmares."

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked, concern plastered onto his marred face, making the smallest one on his left cheek bend a little. She leaned up and kissed it before taking the soldier's hand.

"Not really. It's the same one I've always had. You know, the one about… _that night._" A shiver ran up Captain White's spine and the hair stood up on the back of his neck as he remembered being tied to a pole and left at the mercy of the prison's untamed, vicious, wild mutant guard dogs, the feeling of his flesh being ripped from his body as fresh as ever in his mind. Still, in an effort to soothe his girlfriend, he acted strong and looked her in the eye.

"Why do you think you're having so many nightmares all of a sudden? I mean, as far as I know, this has only started recently."

Katrina shrugged. "Yeah, they have. I dunno, Scotty. Usually when I start having repetitive nightmares like this one, something bad is going to happen. Like the last time when three soldiers were killed by rioting prisoners. Man, I was having nightmares for at least a week before that happened."

"So you think something is gonna happen with the prisoners?"

"Suppose so. There are some new ones scheduled to be coming in this afternoon." They were silent for a moment as the information sank in before Katrina pounded her fist against her nightstand.

"Dammit to hell! Why do we have to keep those fucking shitwads down here in the first place? A favor to society? Well then, fuck society! I don't give a damn about them, especially since they produce such evil citizens. Why couldn't they take care of their own devils instead of sending them down here and making all of our lives a living hell? I don't get it!" She glared up at her boyfriend as if daring him to disagree. Said boyfriend scratched his head.

"Well, that's the outside world for ya. That's their goal in life, making you miserable."

"Obviously," she grumbled.

"But you know what?" he said as he sat down next to her.

"What?"

"I'll be there for you and use every ounce of my strength to make sure that they never get to you, alright? I swear that they can send as many bad people down here as they want, but they will never ever get to you. I promise you that." He wrapped his arm around her reassuringly and she smiled faintly before shrugging him off.

"That's enough, Captain. I suggest you attend to your position before the rest of the squad notices that you're missing." The boy stood up, saluted his commander, and left the room, tailed by Max and leaving her all alone. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

There wasn't much that could spook Katrina Furnace. Having grown up in what polite society would call the 'greatest hellhole on earth', things that would scare the living crap out of regular people didn't even make her blink. Spiders? Snacktime! Dogs with nothing but muscles on their bodies? Can she keep it? Mutant monsters with silver eyes and uncontrollably animalistic instincts? They're her cousins. Giant men in suits with silver eyes that carried wicked guns and would kill you for fun? She considered them her brothers. No, none of those things would even faze her. By her recruits, she was considered fearless and she bested all of her monsters and men in combat, earning her the nickname of "Kick-Ass Katrina". There was one thing she feared, though, deep inside where few could ever find out; the outside world. Her father, Alfred Furnace, and best childhood friend, Warden James Cross, had told her terrifying stories about the people on the surface; the murders, the crime, the flat-out insecure and deadly heartlessness of them. They said that they'd beat a girl like her senseless and leave her to die in pools of her own blood. Her own mother was beaten to death by those fiends not long after she was born. Stories like those were enough to make the strongest person to ever live in Furnace Penitentiary pull sheets over her head and cry at night. Ever since then, she had been extremely paranoid that some guy from the surface would come down, find her, and kill her, or worse, destroy her home and everyone she ever loved. Terror like that made it hard for her to sleep at night, but she seemed to manage, even though she would occasionally wake up screaming.

Pulling herself up out of bed, she trudged over to her vanity mirror and began to brush her long, shimmering brunette hair. She stared at herself in the mirror for a while, studying her features and wondering if she was pretty. She had ghostly pale skin, pale blue eyes, a sharp nose, and full lips that were the only part of her body that actually had some natural color to them. Scott, her father, and Jamie had all told her that she was drop-dead gorgeous, but she couldn't decide if they were just being nice or not. Katrina had never seen another girl. She was stuck in an all-boys prison (which she really couldn't complain about) with male guards, male dogs, and male mutants to keep her company. I mean, sure, it was nice sitting in front of the security cameras and watching the particularly cute ones take their shirts off to go to bed, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if there were other girls on the surface. Did they look like her? Would they act the same way she acts or think the same way she thinks? Would they think she was pretty? What did her mother look like? Was she pretty? As much as she despised the outside world, she couldn't help but wonder about that. After a moments' silence, she pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, and hurried out the bedroom door into the Preserves of the Furnace; the secret, secluded area that she was happy to call home. New prisoners were scheduled to arrive today, and she wanted to make sure that she got first say about them, because everybody knows that some prisoners are better just to lock away while others… Well, others were better off being used for… other things, and Katrina was hoping for some new toys to play with.

**So, whaddaya think? Questions? I have answers! I will try to post as soon as I can. Thank you and please review!**

**-jumpingjaxx13**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Guess what! Last night, I magically came to own all of Furnace and everything associated with it! Not! I still own nothing.**

Compared to the blacksuits and menacing monsters that prowled the grounds of Furnace Penitentiary, Katrina wasn't much. She rose to about 5'3, was pale, had blue eyes that stood out from the seas of silvers and blacks, and smiled at everyone as she walked by. Yet crowds were parted for her, the beasts feared her, and the guards followed through on her every command. Not only was she the daughter of Alfred Furnace, but she gave off an air of power that immediately let everyone know who was in charge. Power. That was the one thing that she had focused her life around. Over the years, she had taught herself how to recognize great potential power, how to harness power, how to gain power, and how to control power. And, being as powerful as she is, it is no doubt to anyone why she is so obsessed.

Katrina approached a tall, buff man with a gun in his holster and a mole on his face. Captain Sheldon "Moleface" Dickinson, one of her most reliable field agents. This guy could always be trusted to be sent aboveground to get a job done, and it was always done right. Nevertheless, it was part of her procedure as supreme commander to check on the status of his mission.

"Captain?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I suppose that the job I had sent you to complete has been successfully executed?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the boy?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

If looks could kill, Moleface would be no more from the look his superior was giving him.

"The boy. You know, the one you were supposed to bring me. Is he here?"

Moleface was pretty sure he had never experienced true fear in his life, but this was the closest he had ever gotten and as he ever wanted to get. Taking a deep breath, he replied:

"There were some technical difficulties, sir. The boy was wounded-"

Katrina jumped and her eyes widened. "Wounded? How badly?"

"Nothing our wheezers can't fix, sir. He should be fine." He replied quickly, hoping to save his ass from the possible punishments ahead. The girl studied him carefully, as if determining what type of soup he would taste best in, before nodding and smiling at him.

"Fantastic! You never disappoint, Captain. Keep up the good work!" Then she clapped him on the shoulder and headed toward the control, leaving an extremely bewildered and relieved blacksuit behind.

When she reached the control room, she sat down in a leather swivel chair and spun around a little before stopping the chair and looking at the screen in front of her. There were thousands of hidden cameras all around the Penitentiary and every single one fed back to the monitors that were installed in this room. Cameras in the halls, in the yard, in the cells, the showers (those were her favorite), and in the elevator. Her focus was on the ones in the elevator right now. In said elevator were four boys; one was short, plump, and reminded her vaguely of an Oompa-Loompa from an old outsider movie she used to watch; one was taller and lankier than the others, reminding her of the paper-thin edge of a sword blade; one was about average height with dark brown hair that reminded her of her favorite dark chocolate truffles and kept looking up at the cameras; one was a few inched taller than the previous with dirty not-quite-blonde-but-not-quite-brown hair that flipped up at the top of his forehead. From the way all heads were slightly angled toward him, she assumed that he was the center of the conversation they were having. She sat there, studying them in silence for a little while until the elevator stopped and they got off. Overall unimpressed, she decided that these newcomers were no threat to her and left the room to go check on her squad, knowing that they were waiting for her.

When Simon woke up that morning, he had anticipated getting his ass kicked. He and his co-officer, Ozzie, had completely and totally failed in their latest mission, and even though they were members of Katrina's ever favored hurricanes, she was still going to extremely rough with them this time. Their mission was to retrieve the body of the outsider boy that she had had her eye on and they ended up wounding him with more than just a gunshot wound in the process. This boy was very precious to her for some reason, so Simon was right to assume that they would not be let off easy this time. He was chatting nervously with his co-officer in the RR (rendezvous room) with their captain sitting on a bench and staring at the floor, too deep in thought to hear what they were saying. Sometimes when he got like that, the two boys could've sworn that if a train crashed through the room he wouldn't even blink.

No less than a moment later, Katrina came skipping into the room, all smiles and joy. It was almost enough to make Simon forget that this girl was the most feared person in the Furnace Preserves, and probably the entire Penitentiary as well until he looked at her apparel and reminded him of that fact. She was wearing all black; tall high-heeled boots, tight black jeans, a long sleeved, very fitting shirt that ended just above her belly button, and a series of handguns and assorted whips and knives that hung off of her tool belt, all giving off the same dark-and-dangerous vibe. The incongruity of her dark dress pattern and her usually sunshiny personality constantly gave Simon headaches since he couldn't decide whether to smile back and give her a hug or to stand erect and reply 'Sir, yes sir!' to everything she said. Due to the circumstances of that day, though, he decided to try and play on her softer side first so that he didn't end up as dog kibble.

"Hey, Simon. Ozzie. Scotty. What's been going on so far today?"

Simon had to hold back a sigh of relief. She was being casual today, which would make it easier to play her softer side.

"Nothing much, Kat. Just been doing background checks on the new prisoners."

"And?"

"Same old stuff. Nothing too interesting, except for the fact that all four of them strongly insist that it wasn't them who did it. Almost like they'd been framed."

Katrina scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Everyone who gets sent down here deserves it, right Ozzie?"

Ozzie tensed. "Uhh, yessir."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She back to Simon and smiled. "Soo… How did the mission go? A success, I would hope."

Simon felt all the blood rush to his feet. This was it. He was going to die.

"Umm… Mostly."

"Mostly?" she snapped, a hideous darkness filling her eyes. It might have just been his imagination, but he could've sworn that the room got darker. He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Uh, yeah. You see, we got the kid down and everything, but we had to take him straight to the wheezers. He got kind of beat up, you know. Not just the inevitable bullet wound, but he kind of put up a fight, you see, once he gained consciousness. We kinda had to, you know… improvise?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Katrina stared at him with an expression that was a horrifying mix of shock, contemplation, and pure, bubbling fury. Her pupils seemed to take up her entire eye and he felt like the world around him was shrinking and suffocating him. Ozzie started backing up, pointing at her and he noticed that the shadows in the room seemed to be gathering around her, giving her a cruel, unforgiving aura. He was so absorbed in her anger right then that he didn't notice Scott stand and walk over to Katrina, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Katrina, don't kill them. They did what was necessary."

She turned and gave her boyfriend a halfhearted glare that had a ton of thankfulness mixed in with it, releasing the two boys from their nightmarish suffocation. "Scott, they beat up my recruit. They could've killed him!"

"But they didn't. Jo-Hansen's been taking care of him ever since they toted him down here. I made sure of that. You can go visit him in the infirmary if you want."

Katrina's muscles instantly relaxed at the mention of Jo-Hansen and she nodded. "Alright. I think I will." With that, she was off, running down the hallways to the infirmary so she could examine her new recruits to see if he was everything he had appeared to be. Simon sighed with relief.

"Thanks, man. I thought we was dead."

Said captain fixed him with a steely glare. "You were dead, officer. I saved your sorry asses. You know what expectations Katrina has for us. I suggest you don't let her down again, cuz this is a one-time thing. Don't be expectin no help from me again. _Ever._" He said the last word with such assurance that Simon almost believed him that time, even though they had the same conversation every other time that the two officers pissed her off. Simon shrugged.

"Sure, Scotty. You keep telling yourself. The next time our asses need savin', you'll be right there for us and you know it."

A ghost of a smile played on Scott's lips and he turned away. "Get back to training, officer, before I skewer you."

Simon smiled back and complied, dragging Ozzie along behind him as he headed into the heart of the Preserves where all of the blacksuits did their training. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. If only he knew how wrong he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing except for my epic OCs**

Katrina Furnace sped down the halls, weaving through the tortuous corridors at a speed that would've made a cheetah green with envy. She didn't even have to think about where she was going, her legs seeming to have a mind of their own and directing her where to go as she ran. Finally, after she had run down a flight of stairs, she saw the infirmary door and pushed it open.

The infirmary wasn't the most sanitary place. There were bloodstains spattering the walls, moth-eaten blankets covering beds that hadn't been changed since they had been laid out, and needles that hadn't been sterilized since the Second World War. Scattered around the room were empty bags of "Type A" nectar and pockets of flesh that the wheezers would stick into the bodies of their experiments to create their mediocre creations for Warden Cross, which Katrina found relatively disgusting. Having seen what it looked like when the wheezers operated, she swore that she would never resort to cutting people open when she made her creations, especially not to stuff someone else's flesh into them.

She grinned and pushed her way into compartment 194. Inside it already were two people; one wheezer and one barely conscious teenage boy. She examined the boy closely, trying to take in his aura of power and see if he was worth her time while also admiring his handsome physical features. He had military cut red hair, silvery-green eyes that were glazed and unfocused due to the fact that he had just woken up, and a light dash of freckles that were sprinkled across his face. There was a tube sticking out of his mouth that connected to a pouch that sat on the table next to him; a large pouch full of Type Q nectar. Katrina looked at his biceps and smiled, seeing that her concoction had already begun its job in buffing him up. She then turned her attention to the wheezer at his side, wiping the blood furiously off of his scalpels.

Jo-Hansen was considered strange among the others. For starters, he was shorter than most, rising to only about 4'2 instead of the usual 4'9-5'4. He spoke with his hands in an alien language that he called "American Sign Language", whatever that meant. Then there was the fact that he was a complete and total germaphobe. Most wheezers didn't give a damn about the blood on their clothes, the dirt and debris on their workspace, or the filth and rust that coated the needles that they used on their victims, which was probably the biggest reason the Jo-Hansen was an oddball. He would completely freak out around any form of uncleanliness; he polished his needles until they shined, expunged every particle of muck and grime from the compartment he worked in, did his laundry at the end of every day, constantly covered his hands with Germ-X, and bathed at least three times a day and was constantly pestering Katrina to do the same. Even though his antics were undeniably odd, Jo-Hansen was like a little brother to her and she loved his endlessly, and there was nobody she would trust more when it came to operating on one of her projects, especially one as precious as this.

"Hello, Jo-Hansen." she said. The young wheezer looked up from his vicious scalpel cleansing and made a series of hand motions.

_Hi, Kat! What are you doing here?_

"Just checking up on Toby here. You've done a magnificent job!"

_Why thank you! You should've seen him before I operated. Damn, that kid was a bloody mess! Horribly filthy! It was disgraceful._

Katrina giggled. "I'm sure it was. But, yeah, I never would've guessed. He looks like he just woke up from taking a nap."

_Yup! That's some of that Jo-Hansen magic for you!_

"Too bad that magic couldn't make you germ-proof." Jo-Hansen shook his head, insulted.

_What are you talking about? I'm a natural-born germ repellant!_

"Then what's that stuff on your shoulder?" Jo-Hansen jumped and attacked his shoulders with his hands before flashing a hand symbol that you didn't need to be an expert on sign language to understand. Katrina cracked up laughing and gave him a playful shove.

_Wait! Did you wash your hands?_

"Not yet today." Was her response, which resulted in her wheezer brother pulling out a can of disinfectant spray and squirting it all over himself. But, luckily for Katrina, the boy lying on the bed beside them stirred before she could receive a long lecture on the importance of cleanliness.

"Urrrgggh…" Toby lifted his head slowly, as if the gears in his joints were just beginning to turn again. "Wha… What?"

Katrina immediately knelt by the side of the bed and rasped his hand. "Hey there, Toby. How are you feeling?"

Toby shifted slightly and winced like moving had hurt him. "Like my insides had been sent through a paper shredder and burnt in a bonfire."

"So, pretty good then, considering what you've been through."

"What I've been through?" He propped himself up on his elbows as best he could.

"Yeah. Sweetie, you kinda got beaten to a pulp." Jo-Hansen made a series of motions with his hands. "Oh yeah, and a bullet wound. That too."

"A bullet wound?" He removed his hand from hers and rubbed his temples, tracing the stitches that lined the top of his forehead. "Am I alright?"

Katrina looked to Jo-Hansen and back at him, her face contorted in hesitance and pity. "Umm…. No."

**Dun Dun Dun! I know, kinda lame, but do I look like I care? No!**

**Sooo... we've got a flip-floppity Princess of Hell, a scarfaced veteran of the Penitentiary itself, and a germophobic wheezer. Which one's the best? I'm gonna have a poll on my page with all of the characters that will be in this series of fanfictions, so cast your vote! What next? We'll see... ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Does it look like I own anything?**

After a moment of stunned silence, Katrina lost her cool and a smile almost split her face in two. "Ah, I'm kidding. You're fine. Scratch that, you're better than fine! You're great!" She patted his bulging bicep. "See what I mean? My creation has already started to work its magic."

"Creation?" Seeming to notice the changes the nectar was doing to his body for the first time, Toby jumped and swatted at her hand. "Wha…What's going on? What is this?"

Katrina chuckled. "It's a loooong story. You see, here in Furnace, we don't just have guards. We have blacksuits, which are genetically modified to fit our purposes. Depending on the type of blacksuit we want, we pump a certain type of liquid into them, what we call nectar. There are 3 types of nectar: Type A, Type B, and Type Q."

Toby frowned. "What happened to C-P?"

"Nothing. Q is just my favorite letter and Type Q was my own creation, so, naturally, I named it what I wanted. Make sense?

The boy scratched his head. "More or less. Wait, who makes the other ones?"

"My best friend, Jamie Cross. He's the one who's in control of the penitentiary side of Furnace, where we keep all the prisoners. Since he tends to deal with more of the 'experimental' gain from using the nectar than I do, he needs different kinds. I, on the other hand, don't just do willy-nilly experimentation on people. I hand pick who I think is the most powerful and suited to gain the benefits of this modification and would make a great soldier. War will eventually come, you know, and every good force needs an elite team. That's my job; stitching together the best of the best. Get it?"

"Sure. So, why are there different types of nectar? Why don't you just use one?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "You sure are full of questions, buddy. The other boys I messed with were all like 'Holy shit! What are you doing to me? Lemme out of here, you she-demon!'"

Toby laughed. "Yeah, I can see how that could be kind of common."

"Yeah. Well, to answer your question, each type of nectar does a different thing to your head and body. Type A was pretty much a fail; it only made these freakish rat things. Type B was alright; you got all buff, strong, pretty much pain resistant. Only problem with it was that it took away your peace of mind; your sanity and personality. Basically, it turned you into a senseless killing machine. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't want to fight alongside someone who would kill me just as easily as an enemy."

"Nope, it's not just you. So, what does Type Q do?"

Katrina beamed, obviously ecstatic to brag about her own invention. "Type Q is the best one yet, so I only use it for my 'special people'. You see, Type Q makes you just as, if not more, powerful than Type B, but you also get extra special abilities, like the mind-meld, _and _you get to keep yourself, like, as a person. Once you feel good enough to start walking around, you'll see that most of the blacksuits have black or silver eyes, minus a few. Those three are my elite team, the Hurricanes."

Toby smiled. "Oh, I get it. You named them the Hurricanes because you were named after one. Hurricane Katrina. Katrina and the Hurricanes."

Katrina's jaw dropped as she smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're the first one to actually get it!" She patted him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, my man."

"Yeah. So, about the nectar…"

"Oh yeah! Well, because the nectar doesn't really mess with your mind, just your physical abilities, the color of their eyes don't change. Scott has natural silver eyes, Ozzie's are brown, and Simon's got blue ones. Yours are a little silvery right now, but that's just a minor tint. Compared to the other blacksuits around here, yours are a stunning green. Another bonus is that, unlike the other blacksuits, those who are injected with Type Q can eat things other than more nectar; burgers, smoothies, pizza, you name it! Of course, it is good to have a dash of the nectar with every meal to keep up your strength, but for us, it isn't necessary."

"So what you're saying is that, by pumping me full of this nectar stuff, I've become a uber powerful super-human that can do a bunch of epically crazy things while still keeping my personality and being able to eat whatever I want?"

Katrina nodded. "In a nutshell, yes."

With a smile resembling that of the Joker, Toby fist pumped the air. "Alright!"

Katrina raised an eyebrow curiously. "You're not freaking out?"

He laughed in response. "Freaking out? I'm totally freaked out! I mean, look at this!" He flexed his bicep. "_This _is totally _FREAKED OUT!_"

Jo-Hansen flashed a few hand symbols. _I think he's ready._

Katrina grabbed Toby's hand again. "So, you think you're ready to take a look around this place?"

"Yeah, sure!"

With that, she hoisted him up off of the bed and assisted him in walking out of the infirmary. The duo disappeared down the corridor, his arm around her shoulder as they descended into the Preserves of Furnace.

**Okay, so this was definetly more of an explanatory chapter, but Who. Da Fuck. Cares?! Please review!**

**-jumpingjaxx13**


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